


Being Fat

by HBossWrites



Category: Original Work
Genre: Freeform, Growing Up Fat, Self-Acceptance, Self-Hatred, healing through writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 21:22:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13598658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HBossWrites/pseuds/HBossWrites
Summary: I don’t know when being fat became synonymous with being dirty.I’m a person.I just want to be treated like one.





	Being Fat

I don’t know when being fat became synonymous with being dirty.

When I was in elementary school, kids didn’t want to be near me because I was ‘gross, fat, and smelly’.

When I hit puberty and started actually needing deodorant, I was constantly told I made people want to throw up.

When I was in high school I washed my own clothes, not to be helpful, but so I could wash them three times to make sure they smelled like soap.

I wore two pairs of underwear every day, and I almost never went anywhere without putting on a fresh layer of deodorant and a hoodie for the extra layer to hide the smell of fatness from the world.

I had all kinds of 90’s perfume that smelled like fruit and cotton candy. I drenched myself in it until my skin itched and I wanted to gag.

I showered twice a day, at least an hour each time, scrubbing myself with the harshest soaps I could get my hands on.

I actively avoided putting effort into gym class so I wouldn’t start to sweat and smell.

Nothing worked.

It didn’t stop people from calling me a heifer, or a pig, or telling me I smelled like piss and shit.

It didn’t stop people from making gagging noises.

It didn’t stop people from telling me I’d never be raped ‘because boys would throw up before they could get my pants off’.

Now, I’m an adult and it’s a little different.

Instead of people telling me I smell, they wrinkle their noses when they see me out with friends at a restaurant.

They whisper how ‘fat people gorging themselves’ put them off their food.

A man saw me standing in line at Starbucks after flying across the country and called security to have me escorted out because I smelled like I rolled in shit and ruined his flight.

Customers at my work tell me I should ‘go to the gym’, or ‘have surgery’, or ‘have discipline’ and ‘eat less’.

They still look at me like I’m dirty. Like I smell.

I used to scrub myself raw.

Sometimes I still do.

They don’t know my story.

They don’t know that my depression saps the life out of me and there are days I can barely force myself to move.

They don’t know that the only person in my entire family who isn’t morbidly obese has an eating disorder that’s killing her.

They don’t know that I can’t find the courage to make a dating profile online because I don’t have a single picture in my entire life that’s ‘skinny enough’ to be attractive.

They don’t know that there are days when the only thing that gets me through it is the thought of that fucking frappachino.

They don’t know that I hate myself for-

_being fat_

_disgusting_

_monster_

_piece of human garbage_

_waste of space_

_just fucking die already_

-drinking the damned thing.

They don’t know that I can barely find the motivation to do the things I love, let alone things that make me feel ashamed.

They don’t know that I’m still afraid of smelling bad.

I try to be forgiving about the whole thing.

People are judgmental.

They can’t help it any more than I can help being fat.

I try to be kind to people when I see them.

I smile.

I’ve never left less than $5 for a tip, no matter how little I ordered at a resturant. I try to leave $10 if I can, but money is tight.

I ask people how they are, whether it’s at the bank, in the grocery store, or in line at McDonalds.

I always listen.

I’m not better than anyone else.

I’m not worse than them either.

I’m a person.

I just want to be treated like one.


End file.
